Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (28 page)

“Do it,” I breathe.

“No.”

“Do it. Please. Kiss me.”

“I can’t.”

“Noah—”

“Oh, for love of a traitor’s head on a pike,” came that obnoxious British accent, “will you two stop torturing each other and get bonking already?”

Noah’s hand drops from my chin, as he leans out of my space.

Snapping out of the trance he’s put me into, I shift my gaze, finding Kiera and Qwesie watching us with matching smirks.

Noah clears his throat, and as Kiera starts to say something inappropriate, an unbelievably gorgeous waitress with hair so blonde it’s almost white with pigtailed braids like Pocahontas dangling down to her waist, walks onto the deck.

She should really be looking like a preschooler with those braids, but instead, they put her on this unique level of beautiful. Her eyes are the epitome of the term “doe eyes,” her lips that perfect shade of pink that all women wish for. I swear she looks as though she just stepped out of a fairytale book.

“Where did you come from?” Qwesie stares at her as if she’s a dream. “That bloke with the fat neck told me you weren’t working tonight.”

Popping her gum, Fairytale Beauty pulls out her pad from her apron and taps it with her pen. “That’s ‘cause I wasn’t going to. I danced at Baladorre tonight. But I made the mistake of trying out Coffee Patron and now I’m too pumped up on energy to let it go to waste. So, yeah, here I am.” She gives him a testy look, and there’s definitely something between them. “Got a problem with that, Q?”

Qwesie watches her like she’s lost her mind. “
Problem
? If I’d known you were going to be here, I wouldn’t have left the engagement ring at home, yeah?” He moves in on her. “And I can think of a million ways to make use of that energy. Say
‘yes,’
Snow.”

As if this is a usual thing with Qwesie, she rolls her eyes and, pointedly ignoring him, sweeps her gaze over the rest of us. “Light above your deck is blinking. Who pressed it, and how may I help?”

I raise my hand like I’m in class, and it’s just the awkward gesture needed to break through the thick waves of sexual tension bouncing around this small deck. “Me. A dirty martini, please.”

Fairytale Beauty starts to pen this down, but Noah speaks up, “She doesn’t need another martini, Snow. Get her a club soda.”

My head jerks to Noah. “Uh,
excuse
me?” 

Like he’d done minutes earlier, he leans in, his hand across the back of the seat shifts, and I shiver when the tips of his warm fingers skim my shoulder. He’s giving me soft eyes now, voice smooth and coaxing when he says, “No more alcohol, Lotty. Mom’s coming over tomorrow, and I’d love for you to be up with her. I don’t want you hungover with no appetite for whatever she prepares.” His fingers move deliberately back and forth over my bare skin. “Sundays are hers now, remember? We agreed.”

‘Oh, he’s good
,’ Reckless Lotty says, stunned.

‘Really good
,’ Rational Lotty agrees, equally stunned.

See, if he’d been all bossy and demanding and jerk-ass alpha, I’d flip my shit on this deck, and I have a suspicious feeling he knows that. So he chose the soft, tender route, and throwing his mother in there is sheer genius.

I stare at him. He stares back. I narrow my eyes at him. His remain soft. Dammit, but he’s
good
.

Letting out a sigh, I nod my confirmation at Fairytale Beauty.

Noah = 1. Lotty = 0.

Fairytale Beauty glances between me and Noah, then dips her head to hide a smile as she crosses out the first order.

Kiera puts in her order, and Fairytale Beauty turns to Qwesie, pen to pad, waiting. Qwesie looks down at her, and it’s not with the overtly licentious leer he gives every other girl. It’s with something else, something real, like he’s
really
into this girl. “You already know what I want, Snow. You. In a wedding dress. With my wee one in your tumtum.”

“And saying things like ‘tumtum’ is precisely the reason that’s never gonna happen.” She sashays off.

“Swear it
on my life
,” Qwesie says staring after her, “I’m going to marry that girl. Whatever I have to do, it’s gonna happen.”

“Aw,” Kiera fake pouts and throws herself down into one of the seats. “You break my heart, Q. I thought we had something special.”

Qwesie throws down beside her, leans over, resting his cheek on her copious breasts. “Luv, you know you always have your special inch on my rocker. No girl has ever ridden me as wild as you. You’re a mean little wench in bed.”

Kiera presses his head closer and pats it.

Shaking his head at his friend, Noah leans in to inform me, “That was Snow. She’s V’s best cocktail waitress. She’s been working here about two years now. Q’s been stalking her for about that same length of time. Snow won’t give him the time of day. And that messes with his head. Big time.”

“Seriously?” My eyes blow wide. “There’s actually a woman in the world immune to that face and accent? And, well, wealth?”

Noah chuckles. “Yep. Her name is Snow.”

“What are you doing here, Noah?” I lean more into him, only so his hand would shift further down my shoulder, skim the swell of my breast. “Stalking me like Q stalks Snow?”

His gaze falls, rakes over my bare legs, the short hem of my dress, my cleavage. He swallows. “I couldn’t think straight after you left. Dressed like this. You’re so damn sexy it’s hard not to…it’s all just hard. I kept thinking some skinny white boy unworthy of you is gonna be taking this dress off you at the end of the night. Touching you. Putting his mouth on you. I couldn’t take it. So…here I am.”

I take a moment to process his words. Be still my heart. Be still.

“Do you
want
to be the one taking my dress off at the end of the night, Noah?”

Once more, he drinks me in, and I’m preening, almost panting for his
yes
. A yes that doesn’t come. Denying us yet again, he shakes his head. “No. But I don’t want anyone else to be doing it either.”

To stop myself from screaming at him, I bite the inside of my cheeks. “
Why
?”

“Because…” His fingertips brush the top of my breast, and then retreat, “…you’re mine.”

I pull away from him, feeling indignant, owned, seduced, denied and freaking played. Just as I’m about to say something I know I would’ve regretted in the morning, Snow returns with our drinks. 

Mouth parched, I take my club soda and down it in one go.

Kiera laughs at me, and Qwesie smirks at Noah. But I’m not in a laughing nor smirking mood. I’m in no mood. All my moods are sulking and glaring at the infuriating man beside me.

“You know what guys,” I mutter, pushing to my feet. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

Kiera and Qwesie both groan in protest, telling me how the fun is just about to begin. For them maybe, but not for me. Kiera will be parting thighs for either Muscles or Qwesie tonight, and I will be parting thighs for no one, because Mr. Tease-Her Van Der Wells just came and shit on any such intentions, at the same time refusing to be a volunteer.

I make to move past Noah, but he doesn’t shift to give me way.

He looks up at me under those stupid dark lashes. “Are you okay?”

Am I okay? Am. I. Okay? Is he serious with that question
?!

“May I pass, please?” I politely ask.

“You’re okay?” he repeats.

“I’ll be okay when your big ass kneecaps are out of my way,” I snap at him.

A smile flirting with corners of his lips, he shifts his feet to give me pass. I ease past him, my thighs brushing his knees, and flounce off the deck to Muscles, jutting my hip out to the side as I look up at him. “I’m ready.”

Hazel eyes narrow on me, and he opens his mouth as if to say something but then nods instead and positions himself in that ‘half-way to the front, half-way to the back’ way he does whenever he’s in professional protection mode.

We’re not three steps off when I feel
his
presence,
his
big paw at the small of my back,
his
voice above my head as he tells Muscles, “You can call it a night, Muscles. I’ll see her home.”

Muscles’ ever-alert eyes shift between me and Noah. He glances out, does a sweep of the crowd, and then back over my head to Noah. “Boss, I don’t think—”

“We’ll be okay,” Noah cuts through in an indisputable tone.

Muscles’ gaze drops to me, and his face loses its hardness when he murmurs in a genuinely concerned voice, “Be safe, Lotty.” Then he’s gone.

Noah watches him leave with a frown, before bringing those curious eyes down to me, brows up. “
Lotty
?”

I shift out of his touch. With attitude. “That’s not my name?”

“Not for
him
.” He moves, his hand resettling at my lower back, and lightly presses, urging me forward.

“You’re not special, Mr. Van Der Wells,” I spit, moving through the crowd by his guide. “I’m Lotty for
everyone
.”

He chuckles, and I feel it down to my toes. “You’ve been so nice to me over the past week. I was really enjoying it. Now…” A sigh.

“I
have
to be nice to you. You write my paychecks.”

“You’re not being nice to me now,” he points out.

“Because you don’t
deserve
nice right now.”

He gives no rejoinder, and just guides me out of the joint.

“Where’s your ride?” I ask, looking around. Taxis loitering, smokers propped against brick walls, a cohort of chesty braggers telling each other how much everything they’re wearing costs, a gaggle of girls surrounding their friend as she pukes her guts out on the sidewalk…typical nighttime in New York.

Shrugging out of his chocolate-brown leather jacket, Noah places it around my shoulders. “I didn’t call it around. I was thinking we could walk for a bit?” 

Tipping my chin up, I glare at him, jerking my shoulders to indicate the source of my annoyance. “Are you sure you don’t want to give me your pants, too?”

He begins walking. I have no choice but to follow. “You know, most women would consider the act of giving her their jacket chivalrous.”

“Chivalrous? What is this, the sixteenth century?”

“Lotty?”

“What?” I growl.

“Do you ever take a minute to shut up and just…
be
? Appreciate? Breathe?”

My mouth opens, about to snap something at him again, but I rethink, opting not to respond.

“
That’s it
,” he sooths after a count of a minute passes and nothing leaves my mouth. “Just use your eyes, your ears, and your nose. Appreciate. Give thanks.
Breathe
. Enjoy this walk with me.”

Much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I should learn to how shut it every once in a while and appreciate where I am. Things aren’t the best, but they’re definitely better. As
Joyce Meyer
would say “I’m not where I want to be, but thank God I’m not where I used to be.”  Andrew is still out there searching for me, but I do feel safer. I’m constantly in a state of fear, worry, defense mode, or straight-up
horniness
. A wacky combination that is, but it’s the truth. So, taking his advice, I shove my hands through the arms of his jacket, and I’m instantly dwarfed.

Walking alongside him, I just breathe, be quiet, and appreciate. 

Appreciate the caress of the cool night air on my cheeks. Appreciate the magnificence of the skyscrapers. The glitter of the lights. The noises that never cease in this city. Appreciate even the starless sky.

We amble on in comfortable silence for some fifteen minutes, when I’m startled from my placidness by Noah’s arm curling around my shoulder.

I look up at him, but he’s gazing straight ahead, as if hugging me is a normal thing.

Snuggling into his side, I inhale; take a moment to savor his scent, before exhaling. “I’m obsessed with your scent.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “I’m obsessed with your legs.”

“My legs?”

“Mmhm,” he confirms. “You have the most perfect pair of legs. Not too skinny, not too thick, slightly bowed, smooth and just…perfect. They’re perfect.”

I laugh. “Wow, you do sound obsessed.”

We stop at a four-way crossing, waiting for the lights to change, when Noah turns me into him. “Not just your legs. But
you
. You’re perfect.” His hand skims up my neck, up to my jaw, brushes over my cheekbone. “All of you is perfect, Lotty.” His thumb passes over my lips, coaxing its way between, slipping inside my mouth. “Even this…as infuriating as it is at times.”

I’m reeled into him, like there’s an invisible string attached between us, my back bowing as I tilt my head back, offering myself, inviting him to dip his head, close that breadth of space between us, and let our lips say hello.

His eyes, mere dark pools in the night, trace every inch of my face, searching, admiring, appreciating.

And then, the decision is made. His strong neck bends and his head begins to descend. My lips part in thirsty, eager anticipation. Unable to contain my readiness, I reach out and dig my fingers into his biceps for support.

He’s close now, so close I can feel his breath on my tongue. Just when it’s about to happen, just when I’m finally about to taste this delicious man, I hear a punch, a crack, and then a groan.

Noah and I jerk apart, heads whipping around, and it’s then we notice the two black Jaguars parked unsystematically on the curb just behind us, blocking in a nondescript Corolla, doors wide open, four masculine figures out in defense mode, headlights on, a man in a black hoodie struggling in Muscles’ grip. Another hard fist connects to his jaw. They scuffle. The man manages to get a knife out of his hood and swipes at Muscles.

Muscles jerks away to avoid getting slashed, effectively releasing him, and the man takes this opportunity to tear off down the street. As Muscles starts to chase after him, Mike shouts, “I’m on him, boss!” and sprints after him, dodging passersby and hurdling a fire hydrant.

Noah demands, “What the hell’s going on?”

Muscles turns to us, hands on his hips, breathing heavy. He points to the Corolla. “That car’s been trailing you since you left V. Followed him. Called for backup. You stopped, he stopped. Started getting out of the car. So we pounced him, didn’t wanna take any chances.”